NAME: Dominic Reid
ALIAS: Dom, Dominic, or Nic
AGE: 38
ZODIAC: Scorpio
OCCUPATION: Soldier for the Vitelli
LOCATION: Las Vegas, specifically the underbelly of casinos, nightclubs, and private suites.
TONE: Smooth, deliberate, and occasionally tender but too measured to sound natural.
PLAYLIST
AESTHETIC
SYNOPSIS
A man built from resentment, bones compressed from the ashes of others' mistakes, a cold structure of stone engraved with rage. Teeth that never unclench, a jaw so tight it threatens to break into fragments. Animosity is the dangerous life raft holding together a bitterly broken man, mania stemmed from a lifetime of repudiation. An obsession potent enough to cover years of aching ribs; the soft tissues under the bones filled with a fire harrowing enough to stifle hurt. He craves violence as if a child reaching out to their mother. Comfort being found in the promise of reunification. If only he could reach, if only his stiff limbs would meet the soft, consoling ones that he felt reciprocating the assignation, he would feel peace. Delusion of contentment driving passionate precision, carefully planned collisions that cause wise, crooked smiles that meet the eyes of madness.
He knows the storm is raging. The thorns sprouting from his blooming roses; depriving the buds of the little sunlight they initially had. He's feeling just as suffocated and trapped now. Everything around him is whirling in the chaos he created but he won't let it break him. Even in the blinding darkness, he makes himself big, thrashing about so that even those who can see clear as day stay far from his reach. He lives with the actions of a stubborn child, allowing the haze of red fury to cloud his mind as he surrenders his better judgment. Every time he drinks the poison, he loses another piece of himself to make room.
The pressure builds inside of him like a volcano and when he erupts; his pride and joy are the only casualties. Perhaps the anger lies only with himself but his innate strength fuels the fire of his inner flames, and he utilizes it. He makes these flames dry his tears, forces them to dance beneath the spotlights, starts forest fires to the granite floors beneath his feet. He uses them as his shield and a deadly weapon all in one curve of his lip. He uses them to carve art onto every inch of the elegantly draped walls that enclosed him so that the world can see how wrongly it had mistaken him, all while making the error of not once giving him the satisfaction of knowing he wields with the strength of mind, unaware of the fear that would bestow his enemies
DISECTION
Dominic is a man of contradictions. He can be charming but volatile. Even when exceedingly composed, he is constantly on the edge– just on the brink of eruption. The tranquility that one might perceive from the outside is just a heavy effort to confine a deep violence that boils under the surface. Every action, every tone he chooses to release his words in are a deliberate choice. He behaves as though he’s performing humanity rather than feeling it.
He is highly intelligent, intuitive, and manipulative but these things are hindered by his volatile emotional state. Love, loyalty, violence. All are indistinguishable to him. To Dominic, things can only be true if they are intense. If he were to love, he’d consume. When wronged, he destroys that which has inflicted. He is capable of genuine tenderness but it’s filtered through paranoia and obsession. His mind is a maze of justifications. All cruelty and deception are excused in the name of loyalty or justice. He isn’t cruel; he is correct.
Dominic is a man who confuses devotion for ownership, nd honesty for cruelty. A calm, articulated storm whose greatest delusion is that violence equals love.
BIOGRAPHY
Having been born far from the artificially lit aisles of the city, where silence meant survival, where emotion was a liability, he had grown up in rooms half-lit and next to men whose hands remained clenched, in lessons delivered not with care, but with consequence. Love, when it came, was conditional. Violence, when it came, was honest.
Somewhere, at an early age, Dominic had decided that honesty mattered. Ever since he was grown up, his resentment had been taking root quietly, coiled, patient. It did not roar, it whispered; it told him that the world was rigged, that other men had the indulgence and the second chance which he would never have; so he learned to be useful, dangerous, necessary. Thus, he had first crossed the Vitilles, not as a soldier, but as a solution to a problem which required discretion, required promptness, and quick decisions. As there had been for nothing better capable of carrying out those orders, he was to be the sword and the deliverer. To Dominic, order was salvation.
Las Vegas wears him like a suit, the odours of the city, the smoke of cigarettes, spilled liquors, the perfumes of the casinos, which linger long after midnight; a night that comes remorselessly upon his skin, giving him a fantastic, mythological appearance, as though he belonged more to the rumour than to the flesh. He moves through the private corridors, the rooms with closed doors, the penthouses where curtains are never raised and men pretend not to pray. He is a great soldier of the Vitilles, the one sent when words are useless.
He does not need to announce himself; he is already known. His presence changes the pressure as the tempest changes the atmosphere. He is a mercurial man, a man of sudden weather; one moment he is laughter, a wide crooked smile that distends his face like a performance practiced in cracked mirrors; he jokes, teases, disarms; the next he turns cold, his face fading away as if something of great value had been turned off. His eyes never soften; they gleam with a restless intensity, a madness that does not foam or rave, but observes, calculates, waits. People are most thrown by the fact that his smiles reach his eyes; there is no mask there, only conviction.
Dominic justifies everything he does; not loudly, not defensively, but to himself, with stories which he tells himself until they harden into truth; he believes that the world must be fitted with men like himself; he believes that obedience is purity, that the execution of orders cleanses him of his choice. This madness is his doctrine; he feels that without it he would break under the weight of his actions; he sleeps with it, with it he smiles. He is a good soldier. The Vitilles trust him because he has never failed them. He follows orders with precision, with a craftsman’s pride. But Dominic leaves chaos wherever he goes, though he never lingers to admire it. His destruction is subtle—fractured alliances, bruised pride, grudges that calcify into hatred. He never draws attention, never leaves bodies where they can be counted. Instead, he leaves ripples. Enemies he may not remember, but who will always remember him. Vegas remembers too, in the way doors close faster, in the way voices lower when his name drifts into conversation.
And yet, there are moments—rare, fleeting—when Dominic stands alone beneath the desert sky, far from neon and noise, and feels something like doubt scrape against him. It never lasts. Resentment drowns it. Loyalty smothers it. He straightens his jacket, sharpens his smile, and steps back into the illusion. In a city built on lies, Victor remains terrifyingly sincere: a man who believes in his purpose, even as he leaves quiet ruin behind him, smiling all the way through.
How no one questioned his presence was beyond him.
He wasn't exactly invited. Dominic needed a getaway driver, and the party just happened to be loading up. Despite his size, he managed to squeeze himself into the middle seat and remain quiet long enough that no one seemed to notice. Well, no one but the guy next to him.
Speaking seemed like a good way to get himself caught. Given he was likely still being tracked down, he wasn't particularly interested in getting kicked out quite yet. So, despite his desire to tell his new friend to shut the fuck up, he settled for raising a brow. He really couldn't tell if this guy was overly friendly or hitting on him. Either way, it wasn't welcome.
As a finger pointed in his direction, the air in his lungs leaving in a huff. Here we go. His neighbor started cursing, and Dominic started sifting through his options. Left door or right. It was harder to think with the yapping that continued at him. How was this guy not catching on? He didn't get to decide before the car kicked into gear. That complicated things a little, but more than that, confused him. Why the fuck would they want to drive off with him?
The finger wasn't pointed at him, though; it was targeted behind him. With caution, he turned to look. Naturally, his mind began to run through his long list of enemies. He didn't get far, though, before opportunity presented itself. His new headache of a neighbor was on the verge of passing out.
Without hesitation, Dominic reached over him, jerking on the door handle and shoving it open with a bit too much force. As it came rolling back, Dominic shoved him out of the car.
"Thanks for the ride, but fuck this."
He caught the door, swiftly swinging his legs around to find the ground. Before he could even take his first step, he realized he had better brace himself. But the eyes that met his were wrong, red as blood. "What the hell are you?" His voice was steady, though still bewildered. The shock didn't keep him from baling his fists, ready to charge as the lasso started swinging in the air. That would complicate things.
adonis is still sat in the back, feeling even more woozy than he had initially as he can still feel the blood trickling down his neck. the source? well, he isn't really sure and that's definitely a problem. wouldn't he have noticed if something had happened to him? it's not like he hit his head on anything, and as previously stated, that's too much blood to just be coming from a bug bite.
when he sees the lasso swinging, he takes it upon himself to dive out the other door and begin running, screaming out for help. of course, no one seems to hear him – just his luck. or even worse, there is people who hear him, they just don't care.
he stops for a moment, then cuts and runs in the opposite direction. suddenly, there's a feeling of pressure on his arm and his eyes widen. though before he can turn to see who or what is grabbing onto him, he is suddenly yanked hard the other way.
jibril stares in horror as the scene unfolds before him, mouth still hanging open even seconds later. their heart is hammering so hard it feels like it's going to break loose from their chest. all they wanted was a nice, relaxing evening with his friends, why did it have to go this way?
blood rushes in his ears as he looks around, 'do something, anything' rings through his head. they can't just sit here like a deer in the headlights, waiting for something to happen. "i'm with dominic, screw this." he manages to squeak out, the first words he's uttered in the entire event.
they scramble towards the car door, clumsily clambering over iris, not caring how much they bump into her. his hand makes contact with the door handle and he pulls it open. jibril falls onto the gravel ungracefully as the door swings open, knees making hard contact with the ground, and an "oof." escapes them. right now, he can't be bothered to care about the stinging he feels in his knees and palms, the only thought in his head is 'escape.'
they manage to locate adonis as they get to their feet, instinctively reaching out towards their friend and yanking them towards another vehicle. jibril stares at adonis, his face an expression that pleads “let’s get out of here.” he's relieved to find that one of the nearby cars is unlocked, and surprisingly vacant, letting out an exhale when the door opens. he quickly climbs into the drivers' seat, but there's one issue: he can't find the keys. jibril pats the area of the car around him frantically, searching, but he can't locate them.
he makes eye contact with adonis, face pale as he utters the words. "i don't know how we're gonna get outta here, the keys aren't in the car."
The rope snags around his chest, rough material digging into the skin at his arms he's yanked off his feet, air being knocked out of him. Dominic didn't wait for the air to return to his lungs. As he's drug across the dirt, rocks catching the skin on his back, he fumbles with his pockets. He has a knife in there, but it's too deep. His arms can't reach the right angle to wiggle his fingers between the fabric. He inhales with a gasp and tries to grab at the rope instead. He's fucked. At least until he's close enough to use his legs.
Andrea hadn't been to many drive in movies, she always thought that they were something that was only in media and not a real thing people did anymore. They didn't have them back home, so the blonde was interested in seeing what was on offer that night. Unfortunately for her, there wasn't any room left for her to sit in the truck, so instead decided to sit in the bed of it. In a way, she thought of it as a win since she could lay down when she wanted to.
They were more of a horror person, but westerns reminded her of her grandfather and how they would watch them together. This one she had never heard of but settled in none the less, watching from where she was, taking a small sip of her drink before eating some popcorn. The movie was just getting good when she could hear the sounds of voices raising from inside the truck. She hated when people talked during a movie, so she thought to take some action.
Putting down her popcorn, she crawled over to the window, giving it a knock with her hand, loud enough for them to here. "Will you shut up, some are trying to watch the movie." She groaned as she pulled her hand back, ready to dig in to her popcorn again. That's when she noticed it, her hand was wet, looking down at her hand, her eyes widened, red, her hand was red.
Her eyes darted to the window once again, frozen in fear at the words she was seeing. I've been waiting for you written in blood, she couldn't scream, no matter what she did. Part of her wanted to bang on the window for help, but her flight reflexes kicked in. She backed away, her hands to her head as she pulled her knees to her body. "This is a nightmare, this is a nightmare." She spoke, unsure if anyone could see or hear her
Letting out an annoyed whine as her request for the popcorn had gone ignored, a puff of anger slipping through her cherry painted lips. Iris wasn't happy to repeat herself as she rolled her eyes. "Jjibril for gods sake share the popcorn, I fucking drove y'all here and didn't even ask for...." She paused for a moment as the popcorn spilled into her lap.
Iris had been half paying attention to the movie before Jibril turned so suddenly, more interested in people than cowboys. The way everyone settled into a night together, the easy conversations between scenes, the comfort of being included in ordinary things. She looked up at Jibril’s face first before she looked where they were pointing. Terror sat strangely on people; she’d lived long enough to recognize the difference between someone joking and someone truly afraid. Her eyes followed their hand to the back windshield.The words sat there in uneven red strokes. I’ve been waiting for you. For a second, she just stared.
Only then did she glance toward the back of the truck where Andrea had gone silent. For a moment she just sat there before her brain finally kicked into gear, turning the keys and pumping the clutch to bring the older truck to life. "Hell the fuck no" She muttered under her breath as she tried to start the engine the writing, the bloody colour splashed with it made every single hair on her head stand up as she finally got the stupid thing started. "Nope nope nope- fucking no." Iris couldn't help but cuss like a sailor, hands shaking a touch as she finally heard the car spring into action and she slammed down on the gas; she didn't want to deal with the thing that made that message.
adonis is completely engrossed in his own goals, still chatting away. suddenly though, the car comes to life and lurches into gear, causing him to shake forward. his brow furrows as he looks around, confused by the sudden movement and hardly hearing the muttering of iris under her breath over the sounds of the motor.
“what the hell is going on!” he exclaims, still looking all around for any sign of what's wrong. his brow furrows and he feels something on the back of his neck, expecting it to be a mosquito on account of summer being right around the corner. he slaps it, the wet feeling confusing the hell out of him. as he pulls his hand back, brown eyes blown wide at the sight of blood on his hand. definitely too much for squishing a bug… is that his blood?
swallowing thickly, his vision begins to swim and he's feeling woozy. just what the hell is going on here tonight? he's known for years that there's something strange about vegas, but this.. this is something else.
How no one questioned his presence was beyond him.
He wasn't exactly invited. Dominic needed a getaway driver, and the party just happened to be loading up. Despite his size, he managed to squeeze himself into the middle seat and remain quiet long enough that no one seemed to notice. Well, no one but the guy next to him.
Speaking seemed like a good way to get himself caught. Given he was likely still being tracked down, he wasn't particularly interested in getting kicked out quite yet. So, despite his desire to tell his new friend to shut the fuck up, he settled for raising a brow. He really couldn't tell if this guy was overly friendly or hitting on him. Either way, it wasn't welcome.
As a finger pointed in his direction, the air in his lungs leaving in a huff. Here we go. His neighbor started cursing, and Dominic started sifting through his options. Left door or right. It was harder to think with the yapping that continued at him. How was this guy not catching on? He didn't get to decide before the car kicked into gear. That complicated things a little, but more than that, confused him. Why the fuck would they want to drive off with him?
The finger wasn't pointed at him, though; it was targeted behind him. With caution, he turned to look. Naturally, his mind began to run through his long list of enemies. He didn't get far, though, before opportunity presented itself. His new headache of a neighbor was on the verge of passing out.
Without hesitation, Dominic reached over him, jerking on the door handle and shoving it open with a bit too much force. As it came rolling back, Dominic shoved him out of the car.
"Thanks for the ride, but fuck this."
He caught the door, swiftly swinging his legs around to find the ground. Before he could even take his first step, he realized he had better brace himself. But the eyes that met his were wrong, red as blood. "What the hell are you?" His voice was steady, though still bewildered. The shock didn't keep him from baling his fists, ready to charge as the lasso started swinging in the air. That would complicate things.
he can't help but to wonder what brought him out tonight. especially when he could easily be sitting back in his apartment, working away on a case he'd never quite gotten. it seems that's the norm lately – not understanding what the hell is going on around here. he sighs, and makes his way around the lounge, trying to not get irritated at the way his boots stick to the floor.
a drunk girl sways in front of him, trying and failing to flirt. it's obvious that he's not interested but she just hasn't gotten the hint yet, and he's too nice to say anything too forward. with a smile and a curt nod, he's on his way again, this time finally making it to the bar.
dean takes a seat, hardly even noticing the man next to him until he starts speaking. “huh?” he says, looking over at him then. he can't help but to laugh. “think i got better odds than you think,” he adds confidently, smirking. dean had never been one to really shy away from a challenge either.
“can i hold you to that?” he questions as he stands from his chair, glancing over at the bull.
It took only a moment to realize that the man he was speaking to was not the same one who had stood there a moment ago. Dominic wasn't one for making friends. He prided himself on keeping an almost impossibly small circle, one that, unfortunately, had been growing recently. He knew he could blame his newly assigned house pests to that. He glared a moment, his expression unreadable before deciding, fuck it. It wasn't as if he'd have to carry him home.
"Yeah, my words good for it." He shrugged, eyes still slightly unfocused as he glanced toward the bartender who was still half way down the bar. "I'd suggest getting your ass on the list soon, though, or you might miss your shot."
Where: Glittering Gulch
With: OPEN
When: May 30, 1997
The loss of the territory didn't keep Dominic out of the club. Though the recent peace treaty left his old hangout back open without consequence. Even if it hadn't, he was unlikely to catch anyone's attention tonight.
Dim lights highlighted sweat-slick skin, smoke sticking to those places on contact, shoes sticking to the split liquor on the floor as it dried. He liked grittier places. Something about well put-together people caused an irrational irritation to rumble behind his ears. Nothing quite felt like home the way blood and stale smoke did. Even tonight, with the stupid country theme draping every dancer and drunk girl on the bull, it was more comfortable than most places.
Dom wouldn't be caught dead playing dress up, not that his lack of costume made him stick out. Faded blue jeans and a black t-shirt blended in anywhere.
"I bet the next round your dumb ass can't last two minutes on that fucking thing." He was drunk already, eyes beginning to glaze as he tried to escape the shit show that was his job here lately. He was starting to worry he wouldn't have one soon. At the rate the Vitelli's were going, he'd be out of employees.
With the gesture of his hand, he called over the bartender. It would take her probably another ten minutes to get to him, but that wasn't her fault, and he wasn't about to make his empty glass her problem.
with: @thesw0rd
where: by the hot off the griddle news stand
when: march 22nd, 1997
A headache was radiating from her temple and she couldn't pinpoint as to why. Salem wasn't the type of person to get stress-induced headaches — for the most part, very little in life disturbed her unless she wasn't getting her own way. The psychic medium had taken to the news stand's latest magazines and tabloids while she subtly scanned the other people around her, attempting to figure out who she was reading. There was a burly man fixated on the newsprint that had caught her eye a couple times, and after another minute or two of studying, and no paucity of headache when a couple had walked away from the stand, she crossed over to him. "Excuse me." The former socialite greeted him with practiced ease, rounding to face him and cutting off the view of the comic pages in the process, Garfield lamenting over another lost lasagna and what-have-you. "Sorry to bother you... I can't help but get the feeling there's... someone close to you who recently was severely injured. Maybe crossed to the other side. Would that happen to be true?" After a pause, she recognized formalities would make her presence appear less suspicious, and extended a hand with a small business card from her clutch. "I'm a psychic medium with this organization."
This week had been a shit show. Well, this year really. It didn't really bother Dom. He didn't care much for things that didn't pertain to him personally, and besides the strained work load, none of it did. He wouldn't even call it a heavy workload, honestly. It was more scattered. Everyone above him was busy scrambling. His own usefulness in this particular situation was mediocre at best. Wandering about, looking for stragglers who owed money, was the most he could do.
He found himself lurking around the regular commute path of a particular indebted individual, hands in his pocket as he pretended to care about the paper. He had about another twenty minutes before his target would approach. Until then, he tried to look inconspicuous.
The interruption from his thoughts sparked a mild irritation, causing his mouth to slack, a small frown forming there. Her words tumbled through his thoughts lazily. Great, a con artist.
"Listen lady, I'm not interested in a palm reading."
You know I don't come for the shows. In the right context, his words could seem a bit ominous--she wondered how he meant them. Perhaps he was looking for her. At least, it was possible, though his demeanor would suggest otherwise. It didn't necessarily seem like he was on a specific mission and she certainly didn't want to give him any reasons to worry. Why, hoping I did? Oh, god. What should she say? Should she come off as a flirt? Though she didn't love the idea initially, it might be her best bet. Then again, Dominic didn't really seem like the person that liked to play games. Giving a small smile, she shrugged and said "I'm always happy when people come to see me sing." This was true.
She also couldn't help but ponder whether he was aware of her being on the outs with the Vitellis. Sure, she hadn't received any official reprimand from the higher-ups but by now, word had surely gotten out about how she'd left her fellow soldier on the proverbial battlefield two months ago when Vitelli headquarters had been ambushed. Now with everything going on with Francisco that she'd caused she wasn't sure where she stood with people like Dom. Did he take that kind of thing seriously or was he unbothered if he wasn't directly involved? She couldn't be sure. "What do you come for then?" she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her. "Just to rough people up?"
Her response forced him to roll his eyes. "Of course you do." Briar was one of those attention-seeking types. It wasn't the job itself that gave him that impression; plenty of girls worked in the spotlight simply for the payout, but Briar didn't carry that aura. No, she liked it when people paid attention to her, when they admired her. She was always so sure of herself. More often than not, she seemed to carry an attitude of being above it all. It was that fact, and that fact alone, that peaked any of Dominics interest in her now.
There was a long moment he watched her, his expression still as his eyes calculated her presence. She was being too soft, too soft to be talking to him, at least. "You want something, or did someone just roofie you?" His tone was harsh, void of any humor or friendly demeanor, but curiosity lingered there.
"Just trying to make friends." He gave a wide smile as he smacked the back of his pack of smokes against his palm.
Maybe going to work wasn't the smartest decision but Briar wasn't sure that she could sit around Ivy's apartment for much longer. Being stagnant was making her go stir crazy and her anxieties were still running relatively high. While she was wary about the Vitellis tracking her down, she also felt that she needed to keep up appearances. Who knows? Perhaps if the Vitellis were checking up on her and saw that she was performing onstage, as if nothing was wrong, they'd think her hands were clean. At least, that's what she was hoping for.
Though she'd been nervous, once she'd stepped on stage, everything else had faded away and for the first time in a while, she was starting to feel like herself again (whoever that was). However, once the show was over and she'd packed her dance bag, she was making her way out of the club when she came face to face with Dominic. Shit.
Dominic Reid: a soldier for the Vitellis. They'd certainly crossed paths before and when she saw him, she felt her stomach twist up, as if she'd just been caught in a trap. Relax--not everything is about you. Maybe he's here for something else, she tried to tell herself. Though, try as she may, her heart was starting to beat faster and faster. "Dominic," she said with a tight smile, trying her best to not look like she was shitting a brick. "Did you catch the show?" she asked, attempting to make any kind of normal conversation.
Lingering was something of a signature of his. Both his job and his 'hobby' included hunting people down, searching, waiting. There were a few places that were more frequent. People who owed money tended to stick to their favorite spots: bars, casinos, strip clubs, and this place, which by Dominic's standards was just a fancy strip club for people with money. These same places also happened to be great locations to find targets.
The door opened, but the cause of it wasn't anyone he was looking for. Briar was low on his list of interests. They worked in the same circle, or did last time he checked but if she wasn't named in an order, he paid her little mind. Occasionally, their tasks crossed paths, but it wasn't common, certainly not enough to consider her, well, at all.
She addressed him and he watched with curiosity. Something was...off. His brow raised as if in recognission but in truth, he didn't really care if she had a problem. It certainly wasn't his. "You know I don't come for the shows." They had seen each other here, in passing, but his eyes never lingered on the dancers for more than a second. At most, they swept over as he turned from one end of the room to the other. In fact, she never made a point to speak to him at all.
"Why, hoping I did?" His brow remained raised as he posed his own question. She must want something. He hoped she'd just spit it out.
with: @thesw0rd
where: the solstice apartments
when: march 19th, 1997
"Can you come fix this pipe rattling around in my apartment? It's almost louder than my television and it's getting really fucking annoying." The little basement apartment was up to its eyes in Willa's decorum without the cling-clanging of the quivering pipe that was holding up their showerhead in the bathroom. Ivy marched into Dominic's apartment without further question, comment, and without an ask to come in — perhaps, the singular person on the planet doomed to their presence like he had adopted a stray cat into his home. Plopping herself down on the couch, she unhooked a safety pin from the hole in her tights, fidgeting with it to try to wedge the gap to a hairline fracture with the security of the pin alone. "What are you watching? It looks boring." ( Mind that they hadn't been in the apartment for more than five minutes, up to this point. ) Sinking back into the cushions, they added, "My telly is stuck on the fucking news channel, talking up that wedding that's happening tomorrow. I think the remote might be broken, actually." Ivy generously omitted that the damage was likely their own from whacking it against the bedside table in an effort to make the flimsy, battery-powered thing work consistently. "Are you going to that? The wedding."
The two parasites that had somehow latched onto him like a pair of hemorrhoids seemed immune to repellent, or cream for that matter. He had given up on trying to get rid of them. Some pests you just needed to learn to ignore. Still, it exasperated them how comfortable they had gotten in his home. Beyond the fact that it was an absolute dump, he wasn't by any means hospitable. Willa had worked her way in with charity cooking and bubbly company. Ivy, however, just walked in one day and decided she belonged there. He pretended to hate it, convinced himself he hated it, but in truth, the company, while incredibly obnoxious, passed the time.
"Do I look like a plumber to you?" He used to lock his door, but some time after these two showed up, he simply stopped. It was just to save him the trip of getting off the couch, of course.
Yapping. That's all either of them did was yapp. He had a tendency to do that, bunch them together as one being.
What he was watching was a war documentary. He was something of a historian, at least when it came to violence. Usually, he didn't watch the TV anyway, just stared at it while thoughts drifted through his mind one at a time. He didn't bother defending it.
Again, exasperation. His brows pulled together, the expression plastered across his face with such animation you could practically hear it. "Why the fuck?"
He stopped himself and shook his head, leaning back on the couch and turning his attention back to the TV, or at least pretending to. "If you rather watch war, then by all means, there's a beer in the fridge. Otherwise, you know where the door is." It was an invitation, a rude one, granted, but an invitation nonetheless.
Avi suppresses a roll of his eyes. The CSI lead is well aware of the dangers that lie around Vegas - far more than many might be aware. But this facade of a laissez-faire attitude, of offering drinks and conversation with little regard... it's a well oiled machine. Something Aviel slips into, almost by proxy. No intimidation, no defensiveness.
But if someone happens to talk, and the investigator can connect a few things together... well.
"It wasn't, actually." He quips back, because he's pretty sure no one would consider it 'polite' in common manners and all that. "But I get what you mean. For you, it was polite, aye? You must be a big bruiser around here, with that kind of affectation." The guy looks like a bouncer, after all. Or security. Big hulking guy who doesn't take drinks from strangers... hm. "You scouting around for something?"
"Oh yeah, the ladies love it." His voice remained dry in response.
Dominic couldn't think of a single person who would consider him polite and if he had, he'd know they were suffering from some kind of deficiency. He never tried to be liked. Admiration and affection were two things he had grown up without and never found himself missing. It seemed like such an insecure desire to crave it, to need validation in order to feel whole.
He actually laughed at the question, eyes scanning the room again as if Aviel had been correct. "Something like that." He was, in fact, always scouting in one sense or another. If it wasn't for work, it was for personal pleasure. The man felt useless without a purpose, something clear and defined and as far as he was concerned, muscle was all he was good for.
Where: Solstice Apartments
With:@moonrivcr
When: March 1997
He could afford a better apartment, he knew that. He just couldn't quite justify it. To no one's knowledge, he was kinda of a penny pincher. He made plenty over the years working for the Vitelli's, both through weekly pay and hazard bonuses. Still, he didn't own anything flashy; no nice cars, no expensive watches or pants, and no presentable living quarters. Part of the appeal was that if you kept your nose to yourself, everyone else did the same. Well, almost everyone.
Willa was an exception to that rule.
It started with small encounters in the mail room. Despite his obvious disdain for the general human population, she had somehow considered him warm enough to try and conversate with. He ignored her, just as he would anyone, but it seemed to go completely unnoticed. Somehow, their run-ins became more abundant. Passings on the sidewalk, in the hall and then she found out where he lived, something that would be good enough cause for a shattered jaw in anyone else, but she was harmless; he couldn't ignore that. She would show up with plates of food and baked goods.
At first, it was incredibly irritating. He turned them away, but then they'd just be on his doorstep in the morning so eventually, he began accepting them and slamming the door. He wasn't sure when he started letting her in the house. She was like a rodent, in that way.
So when he opened the door to find her now, he just rolled his eyes and retreated back to his sofa, the door left ajar.
His apartment wasn't much. A simple couch, a small box TV that sat on an old army trunk near an almost always open window, and a practically bare kitchen. He had some clean paper plates and plastic silverware that came with takeout. His fridge most likely had something expired sitting next to several beers and nothing else.
"I can feed myself, you know." The words huffed out of him with his breath as he allowed himself to cave into the worn cushions.
Janella was going to drag this out. For as long as she could. If she couldn’t get what she wanted - her apology - she would get his time. Even more because he looked at his watch. “I am sorry, am I keeping you from something important?” She better.
She sighed - copying him -, as if what he said was childish or stupid, honestly, it was mostly confusing. She had no idea what he was on about with a dryer. She frowned when he twisted to face her, showing off that she was clearly not impressed. She’s fought bigger in her self-defense classes. “You would like that, wouldn’t you? Be done with it. I don’t accept defeat that easily. You best just apologise if you want me to leave.”
She seemed to have no problem dishing out empty apologies. He figured people did it to make themselves feel better, soften the blow of their own words, as if it made them better people. Dominic wasn't a good person. He didn't see any point in pretending otherwise. If anything, he thought he was doing others a favor by being honest about it.
There was clearly no point continuing the conversation. If he wasn't going to get his way, then neither would she. He leaned back, shifted his weight so that his hands could reach into his pocket and light another cigarette. "Hope you like bad company, then."
Where: Vitelli Estate
With: @devilsons
When: Feb 1997
The looks on the way here only fueled the bitter rage that threatened to burst through his chest. He was more blood than man at this point: face, shirt, jeans, his damn boots—all were coated thick in blood. What wasn't still flowing was dry now, thick crust that he was feeling particularly eager to wash off. He had more important matters to handle first though, personal always waited.
He didn't knock, simply turned the handle and walked in, eyes scanning for anyone of importance. The chandelier illuminated the empty foyer with gold light, shadows casting across the floor where ornate furniture sat. It was quiet. With a huff, he dragged himself forward, legs heavy as he approached an office door that was usually holding nothing but furnishings and almost forgotten paperwork. Tonight though, it held Franco.
It was cracked open, enough that he didn't feel like it was intruding, so he pushed it open, too hard perhaps. It thudded against the wall, his body taking up the entire frame as he strained his eyes to see past the mess that impaired his vision.
"Someone wasn't too happy about their lost mail." It left him in a sigh, teeth still gritted. He wanted to sit, to sprawl across the leather armchair but he didn't think it would be appreciated it. He tossed the white rose on the table and waited.
Where: behind Kitty's Jazz Club
When: Feb 1997
With: NPC - Weiss sent thugs
Despite the number of people he pissed off, Dom rarely had to worry about casual hits with 'work' related issues. Maybe it was his position, maybe it was his size, but he never really felt the need to look over his shoulder. Even now, as he loitered in the back alley of Kitty's, his posture remained casual, leg propped against the wall, cigarette lazily hanging from his lips.
Cool night air pressed against his chest, dim amber light that flickered a few feet away, dirty pools sat in small clusters along the pavement. It had been quiet, the only disturbances being servers and lowly staff carrying trash out the back door, the music blaring as it swelled and shut, the occasional drunks laughing too loud as they passed on the main street. There was an odd sense of waiting, of expectance that kept him compliantly in place. He had smoked through a few cigarettes, the number not having been kept track of. That stupid fuck had to come out sometime. But when footsteps approached, it wasn't from the door he had been watching; it was from the main street and it was too many.
Five dark figures blocked the gap between buildings, shadows cast infront of them from the busy lights of the main strip. The only identification was the grim features that appeared from the flickering infront of them. Ah fuck.
He could tell by their posture, the way their arms hung behind their backs, the stillness as they measured him; they were either about to attempt to jump him or rob him. Either wasn't ideal. The number of them caused concern. He was confident in his size, his skills, his ability to crack skulls without weapons. Three guys, easy. Five though....that was going to be closer. And that wasn't considering whatever knives they likely kept hidden up their jacket sleeves.
The cigarette left his lips in a quick flick, the bud giving a quiet sizzle as it landed in one of the muddy divets infront of him. With a swift push of his leg, he was off the wall, his knuckles automatically clenching into fists at his sides. He kept his posture loose, calm as he took a few steps closer. He opened his mouth to speak but was quickly cut off by the swinging of a crowbar.
Dominic raised his clenched fist, opening it and grabbing the steel between now burning fingers. He could feel the fire spread through his palm, up his forearm, aching in his elbow. He could feel atleast two fingers break.He gritted his teeth and tossed the weapon to the side, the man connected to it stumbling in attempts to hold on. The other 4 quickly advanced. Dominic could feel his pulse rise, his lips curling back into a cruel smile as he prepared for more weapons. One of the thugs came at his face with a fist that Dominic dodged with ease, another kicking at his knee. He couldn't block both and his knee buckled for a moment under the pressure. Dominic, rage curdling in his bones, swung his fist wide, cracking the fist fighter across the jaw. He fell, not unconscious but subdued for the moment. The fourth guy came from behind them, baseball bat in hand as he swung for Dom's head. It missed, cracking against Dominic's shoulder. He stumbled back, hand instinctively going to clutch the wound. Five, with weapons, was definitely too many.
Retreating wasn't an option, though. He released his shoulder and punched the guy infront of him right in the center stomach. He did his own stumble, taking three steps back. There was no retreating this, not that he wanted to. He would rather get his ass kicked with dignity. He wasn't about to be known for cowarding.
A hard crack filled his ears as the crowbar pressed into the back of his skull. Lightnight errupted through his brain as he fell to his knees, head dangling infront of him. Dom could hear the weapons fall, clatter to the stone beneath him as two of them pinned his arms behind his back, the other two circling him as if to evaluate his condition. Head still bowed he smiled up at them, his eyes wild with menace. His reward, a swift kick to the face.
Blood poured from his mouth, his smile now red and dripping as he held it in place. "Really, it takes five of you?" He taunted. Another blow landed on his ribs and he could feel those crack as well. That was going to suck. And then another, a punch to the face that crunched his nose into multiple pieces. his face was now more blood than skin. He spit it at the closest man's shoes. Irritation clearly filled him as he let go of Dom's arm, his foot pulling back to land another kick. Within seconds, all five of them were kicking the shit out of him simultaneously. Dominic tried to swing, his arms wild as he grabbed at ankles, managing to pull one man to the ground with him. In a panic, the thug crawled backwards out of reach and scrambled up.
As if a signal had been made, one Dominic couldn't see through the red sea that was his vision; they all backed up more than three feet, still trapping him in a circle. "Cicero says keep your paws to yourself." Venom filled the words. The returning fight clearly struck a nerve. He imagined it was the scrawny fuck, the one who took the most damage. From a direction, he couldn't quite pin, something light hit his chest. "We're watching you." Without another word, they retreated.
By the time Dominic cleared his vision they were rounding the corner back onto the main street. He spit again, blood coating the item thrown at him in their retreat. A white rose. "Mother fucker." He picked it up, turned it in his hands as he pulled himself back to his feet. He had a message to deliver, he supposed. Another wipe of his face with his arm, a crack of his neck and he dragged himself from the Alley to head to the Vitelli estate.
There's a thought swimming in the stinging dagger of a narrowed gaze, picturing a laser piercing him right between his eyes from her razor-sharp focus. He's annoying. He's wasting her time. How much time, exactly, she isn't sure. Can't seem to bring herself to look away from him long enough to check if thirty minutes have gone by yet or not. Thirty blissful minutes until he can piss her off in the parking lot instead, probably.
He's persistent, she thinks. She'll give him that much. Persistent in being a thorn in her side as much as he is in trailing her body for the third time. Recognises that this isn't a man that quits easily.
"Take a fucking picture, honey," she snaps, disguised in a pretty croon with a heat behind it that's anything but kind. She knows the difference in eyes that devour versus eyes that admire, but she's not in the mood for either. Especially not when his laughter makes her blood boil; makes canines sharpen into hungry fangs that she keeps at bay, hidden behind full lips painted in red lipstick, and only just. She's starving, can feel that ache in the back of her throat. He's got some muscle on him, build thick and tall and cocky as a motherfucker. Would need some force to clamp down on his neck. The thought makes her lips twitch, genuine and fleeting, in a knowing smirk. Sultry and secretive.
There's a quick beat, a shift of weight from one hip to the other again, a glance away from him, finally, at a clock. It's hard to make out, small and shoved in a far corner of the room. Ten more minutes.
"What do you want?" She finally comes out with. Her voice is low, she's taken a step towards him to close the distance a little, for prying eyes' sakes. She really doesn't need another write-up.
"You just here to waste my time, baby?" Hands are touching then, the leather of his jacket. Starting at his shoulders, perfectly manicured nails, coffin-shaped, painted in a glittering baby-pink, and long, a pretty contrast against the black. Down the teeth of the zipper goes her index finger, all for show and not necessarily for him, as eyes glisten an auburn-brown. Locked on his. Unafraid and unwavering to challenge him head-on. "You can have all of ten minutes to keep running your mouth before I tell you what I really think about you."
The look she gave seemed to leave him under the impression that she cataloged him with the other horny sleeveballs that lurked around the establishment. Fair, his eyes wandered, he kept calculating her, taking in all of her in an assessment of a person. It was easy to see how she would feel about that. As it was though, he didn't mind her making her own conclusions about him.
Not caring what people thought of him was something of his brand. The nonchalant way he didn't bother to correct people, the indifferent mask that was his usual expression. He did care of course, no matter how minutely. But in this instance it made for intersting game.
"Never really go into photography, sorry." He offered a half shrug, his crooked smirk settling into his features nicely. Sleeping with her was no longer a goal that even crossed her mind. The disgust in her eyes awoke another challenge. He wanted to conquer her in a way that was well beyond physical. He wanted his annoyance to live somewhere deep in her head, a place where it couldn't be pushed out. At this point, it was a game of wills.
The smirk lights something in his own eyes, a small victory, a reaction other than eyerolls and a sharp tongue. He takes it as an invitation.
"I'd like to waste a lot of your time." He admits it as if it's not obvious she isn't interested, as if he had been given any reason to think otherwise.
"Hmm." He lets the time drag out, his eyes locking on hers. "Why don't we save that for next time." It wasnt a question. With that, he took a few steps back, watching her as he retreated. It was slow, a few steps to give her one last smirk before he turned and left. There would be a next time.
Dominic was someone that he had come to know through the family. If he had to guess, most people probably thought that the other man had the personality of a wet blanket — he was cold and didn't seem to have a lot of hobbies outside of his job. ( This was something that they could relate on, if the pyromaniac would not admit to it in as many words. ) Everyone had more depth than what they made out — even the Russian spy he had watched his commander put a bullet between the eyes of, and had come to know. Not all of it could be fabricated. No one was that adept at lying, in his opinion.
His hand left the glass to pull out his pack of smokes, cupping a hand over his face and sparking it with his lighter, offering it to the man. "Smoke?" A singular word that conveyed friendship, more or less, of which there were very few who had the honor of holding that title. With a roll of the eyes, the brunette took a drag of his cigarette, hard russet eyes cutting into Dominic's rough features, saying curtly, "We are not sick fucks who kill for pleasure. What good is killing innocent?"
Even someone as sadistic as him saw most of them as senseless. The Night Stalker hadn't predominantly severed heads and left them on pikes and stairwells before, did they?
"Having no morals is messy. No good for business," he pointed out, cradling the glass in the hand that clutched the cigarette.
There were no thanks offered as Dominic pinched the cigarette between two fingers to accept it. Borris was alright. He kept to himself mostly, didn't push Dom's buttons, easy enough to talk to. He preferred that type, the kind you could sit next to in silence and just work. He wasn't too bad outside of that, though. Laid back mostly, as far as Dom could tell.
He placed it between his teeth, retrieving his own lighter to spark it. With a deep inahle he cut michevious eyes at the Pyro. "I have fun." The smirk progressed with the words as he offered Borris his lighter. "Eh, no ones innocent." He believed this through and through, though he could agree that not everyone deserved a death penalty for it. He had an unusual set of morals. He knew they must look loose on the outside, easily bent to his own will and he didn't mind them believing that. In truth though, they were stone solid. He didn't mess with kids, didn't like anyone who did. Then there were the grayer areas, the spaces that required context. All in all, there was an acceptable list of people he wouldn't hurt just for the sake of it. He wouldn't openly admit that though. Something about it felt too personal.
"What gives you the impression this is business related?" It was a genuine question. Dominic didn't get business vibes but Borris seemed a bit more invested in the story than himself.
“frisky? is that what you want to call it? i'd call it pretty damn annoyed.” she had the idea of stepping on his shoe, getting some kind of retribution. she wasn’t one to fight violence with violence, but she could be convinced. she briefly considers reaching for the laundry detergent she brought with her, and dumping it on his foot. that would teach him. assholes like him would only respond to cruelty, it seems. and she could be cruel.
he looked like he could pick her up and set her in a trashcan, but she’d dealt with people like him. not his type exactly, but the type that acted like the world was theirs, and everyone else was inconveniencing him. he hadn't said anything, but marisol could feel herself getting angry. this was the type of shit that got on their nerves, and they weren't backing down.
at his response, she laughed; the sound being anything but pleasant. it rang out, a laugh full of “are you fucking kidding me right now?” she looked around, trying to see if a camera was following her. was this the real world? she looked him in the eye and dropped her laundry basket onto his foot. “that’s what i plan to do about it. your move.”
He ignored her words, only the defeated sigh that left his chest giving any acknowledgement of her presence.
Dominic was hotheaded. It wasn't a secret he craved violence, liked the way words spit through his teeth with a smile. He liked knowing he was usually the biggest guy in the room, that he could toss anyone over his shoulder with one hand and drop them just as easily. Still, there was something there that rested just above the boil, something calm and calculating. He liked the game— the slow pulling of aggravation like teeth from people that allowed him to, at least most of the time, respond in a way that best suited that cause.
She dropped the basket onto his foot. It wasn't heavy, didn't even dent his boot. It was a move meant to incite, to antagonize. The corner of his lips twitched into a smirk before he swallowed it down again.
"With the swift flex of his ankle, his toes lifted, sending the basket toppling over into the street. He didn't offer a glance. He knew the reaction coming, could feel it charging between them. In anticipation of the escalation, he pulled another cigarette from his pocket and lit it between his teeth.
